>>5877176You shook your head negatively.
"ᴀRe ʏou suRe ᴀʙout tHᴀt ʙecᴀuse J tHJɴk"
"You shouldn't really care, it's just atavistic biology. Lemme take a shower, and then we'll eat breakfast." Ollie was not really built for that sort of thing (not a necrowomb, but then again, necrowombs didn't usually have... limbs), and didn't really have a drive either. She liked to help you out sometimes, but she approached it like a game of sorts, thinking that the faster she was done, the more skilled she was. It never sat right with you anyway, and you weren't that into the physical side of it.
You were not attracted to her body at all. It was cruel to say, to put it in these words, but that was true, you knew it and she knew it. She had a pretty face, sure, surprisingly pretty, all things considered, but her body was clearly not built to be attractive. The stitches that her clothes hid were outright gnarly, and it was pointless to pretend otherwise. You were not a... the polite term was "nightmare fetishist", but those in the Know usually still said "darkfucker". You did not love the undead hodgepodge of organs and limbs collected from people who could not have minded anyway, albeit you have seen it sans clothes so many time, in your capacity as something between a doctor, a mage and a technician. You loved Ollie. You loved so many things about her. She was too much for one person, in more ways than one. Her inexhaustible energy. Her errant "sleep" schedule. The way she twirled a lock of her hair when deep in thought. The way she swayed her whole body around while gesticulating. The way she augmented her clothes with ribbons and frills to look more feminine, a quality that her androgynous (literally androgynous, she did not discriminate the body parts) body cruelly denied to her. Her specific culinary preferences. Her speech mannerisms. Her boisterousness. Her.
She crawled off you and bounced on her tiptoes while you slowly stretched and rose up, then rushed our of your bedroom towards the kitchen. You heard a loud crash midway and a loud, inhuman howl.
Fuck.
You ran after her, picked her up (her body was surprisingly light, all things considered — at most forty kilos or so) and fireman-carried her right onto her bed, then pulled down her pants in one swoop and examined her leg, your ears ringing with loud curses all the while. It was bad.
Ollie's body was clearly the work of a genius, which is to say, completely nonsensical. The way all long-lasting undead worked was based on the same principle — they required an external resource their body consumed in lieu of generating its own vital essense. This could be an electric charge, vitamelange, blood, deuterium, lots of tried and true options really. Ollie had an elaborate ward cast over her entire body, the locus point of which looked externally like a tattoo over her pelvic area — cointuitively, a ward against life. This did not actually kill, but it prevented all new life from being created. This meant no part of her body would rot (since microorganisms could not reproduce), but it also prevented all cell division, and thus regeneration. Of course she had to avoid physical exercise, since it was predicated on the idea of damaging your body and having it heal back stronger, and had to be really careful in general, but the accumulating wear and tear of everyday routine meant that every part of her body had a limited shelf life. She periodically replaced them with parts of corpses she procured from her contacts at the local morgues, refusing to involve you in this process, and obviously that was not pretty. She could feel pain nonetheless, and one's leg bursting apart at the seams was not very pleasant.
It was never this bad before, and the worst part was that you felt completely and utterly useless. You never saw her digestive system up close, but it was definitely not fully human and almost certainly an artificial construct, and even if oral painkillers could theoretically help, they would be processed without having a chance to take any effect — and, of course, intramuscular or intravenous lidocaine would not help dead flesh. All you could offer is a hug of comfort at this point. It would still not subside fully until a proper replacement, but the goal here was to let your love's mind grow accustomed.
"I'm so soRRʏ...", she whisper-yelled.
"It's okay. I'm here. It's okay."
"I Hᴀd so mᴀɴʏ pMᴀɴs ғoR todᴀʏ. We weRe GoJɴG to Go ғoR ᴀ wᴀMk ʙut ᴀMso OMMJe cooked ʙReᴀkғᴀst ᴀɴd we couMd eᴀt ʙReᴀkғᴀst toGetHeR ᴀɴd Jt wᴀs veRʏ ɴJce ᴀɴd J wᴀɴted to Go ғoR ᴀ wᴀMk mostMʏ ʙut ReᴀMMʏ ᴀ Ruɴ ʙut ɴow J cᴀɴ't do tHᴀt ᴀɴd J Hᴀve to Meᴀve ᴀɴd Jt wᴀs eᴀRMʏ so eᴀRMʏ ᴀɴd AH SHIT BREAKFAST FUCK PLEASE TURN THE STOVE OFF I THINK I FORGOT"
You didn't smell anything burning, actually, so it was likely off already. You went off to check it out, then came back. It smelled amazing, really. The ingredients, though...
cont.
